A/N: Let's hope things are looking up for Mary, Marshall, and everyone else!

XXX

It was the first time in recent memory that Mary stepped through the double doors at the elementary school and didn't immediately experience a trickle of fear. She didn't smell the smoke or the scent of ash mixed with sprinkler water. She didn't feel the warmth of the flames licking her skin, nor did she sense the dark walls closing in as she stood powerless in the kitchen's basement. There were other odors she discerned – eraser dust, maybe, and crayon wax mingling with burned hot dogs from the cafeteria. Truth be known, she was sweating slightly, but the space in her car had grown stuffy as she drove over. But, it seemed that the way to relinquish terrors that had been in place for eight years was to replace them with a new one – Melissa slipping away.

Mary couldn't be sure of what her daughter had done, how she had acted, to make Miss Newman think she needed to place a phone call to the home front. Had she burst into tears at her desk? Had she refused to work and the teacher had deemed this so suspicious she'd felt the need to find out what was wrong? Had she run off, gone the whole nine yards and hit another child in hopes of fulfilling Marshall's 'stand up for yourself' mantra? Once upon a time, Mary would've deemed all of these next to impossible, but she was beginning to think nothing would surprise her anymore.

And so, she strode through the entryway, the cinderblock walls lined with the same fall artwork that had been there when she and Marshall had come for the meeting with Mrs. Hodges. The oranges and yellows and browns blended together, making Mary feel as though she were trapped in some sort of leafy tent. The office up ahead, glassed-in on the front, showed the secretary's desk and the secretary herself, but no one else seemed to be around. A distant babble of voices sounded from the cafeteria, meaning some students were indeed having lunch already.

The lights were brighter and harsher inside the office, and the receptionist immediately glanced up at Mary's presence. The inspector wondered vaguely if she remembered her; the outburst she had-had in the principal's office probably wasn't too easy to forget. If she did, however, she pretended not to.

"Yes, can I help you?" she asked politely, setting down her pen to give Mary her full attention.

"I'm here to pick up my daughter. She's in second grade – Melissa Shannon."

Sympathy spread over the secretary's face at once and she actually smiled at Mary, something she was not expecting. However, she suddenly remembered how friendly Missy used to be before Marshall's accident, how she could make friends with just about any adult because she was so witty and clever. That seemed a long time ago now.

"Missy's waiting in Mrs. Hodges' office…" she informed the mother, and even though there was nothing ominous about the way she said it, Mary still felt a sense of foreboding. "Her teacher should be down shortly; she wanted to speak to you before you left."

The blonde already knew this, and was going to hasten toward the door located behind the receptionist's desk where Melissa was presumably lingering – alone with the principal, no less. But, before she could motor around the table and head back, the other woman reached out and touched her arm. Mary stopped in her tracks, waiting for whatever she was going to say, and all she saw when she looked back at her was more compassion – soft eyes, pitying smile, even her head tilted to one side.

"Mrs. Shannon, I…" even though she seemed to be an expert at projecting concern, apparently it was still hard to get the right words out. "…I was so sorry to hear about your husband."

Mary tried not to panic, but it wasn't easy. Given that Melissa had mentioned Owen's knowledge of Marshall's accident, she had to wonder what else people knew, or thought they knew. She didn't especially want a lot of false rumors flying around; the truth was bad enough.

And so, she tried to go with an offhand response, "What about my husband?"

Maybe this would give her a clue as to what the secretary believed; if it was anything along the lines of what that Owen had spouted, there would be a lot of damage to undo.

"Well…I was sorry to hear about his accident – hit by a car head-on?" Before she waited for Mary to confirm, she shook her head sadly and said, "He's fortunate to be alive, but to not remember so much after the fact; it must be so confusing for him…"

"Who told you that?" Mary interrupted, frankly stunned that whoever was spreading gossip had got their facts straight.

"Melissa…" she revealed in a low voice. "Just now."

"Melissa told you?"

A small part of Mary was miffed that her daughter had covered this task when she had been begging to inform someone at the school of their predicament for days. Why had she confessed now? Maybe she'd had to; maybe however upset she'd been had indicated something larger going on, and she'd spilled the beans to explain herself. That would make sense.

But, for now, the inspector got back to the conversation at hand, wanting to end it quickly.

"Yes, she told me while she was waiting for you to get here, and then I sent her back to Mrs. Hodges…" she nodded toward the door behind them. "Poor little thing; this must be so difficult for her."

An influx of mercy wasn't something Mary typically appreciated, but it didn't bother her too much in this instance. It was better to accept the condolences and move on if she wanted to see her daughter before school was out.

"Well, I…I appreciate…" She was going to say 'sympathy' and then changed her mind, "…What you said," she finished. "We're getting along okay, but…" She would let Missy needing to be released from school before noon speak for itself. "Some days are harder than others."

"I can only imagine," the other echoed. "Well, I…I won't keep you…" she must've noticed Mary's anxiousness to get moving. "But, I hope you know that the thoughts and prayers of everyone here are with you and your family."

This was a staggering statement and awfully broad for one person to make. Mary wondered if it could possibly be true. Adults could sometimes be more understanding than children, but she still didn't like the idea of Marshall's condition circulating among the staff. Missy didn't need additional attention, which was probably why she had wanted to keep things quiet in the first place.

But, instead of saying this, Mary simply nodded, "Thank-you."

Figuring that the receptionist's nod in return was her sanction to head back to the principal's office, Mary walked on without another word and saw that the door located at the back of the office that housed Mrs. Hodges was open slightly. A gentle scritch-scratch sound was coming from inside, and when Mary got close enough, she saw that Mrs. Hodges was as large and threatening as she'd been the first time Mary had met her, even when she was looking down at the paper on her desk.

The lines around her eyes and nose were just as tense and tight as Mary remembered, her dyed-blonde hair still in its bun on the top of her head. The great wooden desk she hid behind concealed most of her form, but her hands were massive as they gripped the writing utensil, her eyes boring into the page in front of her.

But, she really had no patience to spare for someone like Regina Hodges, and the sight of her was really more annoying than infuriating, which meant Mary trusted herself not to stir anything up. Besides, the individual that the inspector had come for in the first place had just been sighted. Melissa was sitting in a chair against the wall opposite the principal's desk, just inside the door.

In a single look, Mary could see that her little girl was just as drained as she was. The need to struggle and scrape her way back to security had been whooshed out of her, just as it had been whisked out of Mary. There had been so many fights, so many disagreements, so many days where both had pleaded with the other to see, to understand, to believe that everything would be all right in the end. Neither wished to play games anymore; both needed to start over, start anew, and let the chips fall where they may.

Missy was curled up in the chair, her head tilted into her palm, and she was blinking at the carpet below. She looked neither sad nor angry, but exhausted. Her glasses were slipping down her nose, and Mary saw that she had worn the khaki overalls Jinx had given her, a style choice her mother hadn't gotten to witness before Mark had driven her to school. The shirt underneath was a turtleneck shaded in lavender, almost identical to the one Mary had on, although hers was more plum. The fact that they had been synced in something, even something minor, made the mother feel better.

And, she finally knocked on the open door, her knuckles making a loud rapping sound that rent the air like bullets.

"Melissa?"

Both principal and student looked up at the sound, but only one left her seat. Melissa unfurled herself from her catlike position, pattered over on tiny feet – not a run, but a brisk walk – and without saying a word held out her arms. She needn't have done because Mary was already there, hoisting her up onto her hips with a groan that came from realizing it was like hitting rock bottom to land at this moment.

She expected tears, a release of pressure in some way, but none came. She felt Missy lean her head on her shoulder, arms wound tightly around her neck. And, Mary simply held her. She didn't ask for anything else, nor did she speak for several minutes, and it was during that time that Mary realized how nice it was just to be. To not beat any topic to death, to not force someone to see the rainbow in the distance, to not try so hard to fix everything that was broken; sometimes another person's touch was all you needed. Marshall, in his original state, and Melissa herself had taught Mary long ago that outward affection wasn't nearly as bad as she'd always thought.

The little girl was stronger and gripped harder than Mary would've believed, and when she had held her aloft long enough, she rubbed her back, feeling the crisscross of her overall straps and the softness of her shirt. Her hair was in a beautiful, sleek, shiny ponytail, something Mary couldn't understand when it had been a rat's nest during their tiff earlier. It must've been Mark – Mark, who always wanted his daughter to be groomed.

And, they both must've been thinking the same thing, and it was Melissa who got the words out first.

"Will Mark forgive me?"

Her voice was small, slightly ashamed, but devoid of any tears.

Mary didn't want to speak for anybody, but she felt certain, "Yes, he will," she patted her hair from behind.

"Do I have to call him dad now?"

She was beginning to wonder if Mrs. Hodges was catching all this. She decided she didn't care.

"No, you don't."

"What will I call him?"

"Mark, like you always did."

"Even if Marshall doesn't come back?"

"Even then. You will have me and Mark and Stan – and Brandi and Jinx and Eleanor…"

"And Peter."

"Yes, and Peter too," a hint of a smile; this time, she tugged her ponytail just slightly. "I know none of them replace Marshall. I know you miss him terribly. I miss him too."

"Does he still love you?" this came in a whisper, like she was suddenly realizing they were being watched.

It suddenly wasn't so hard to admit the truth either – at least not in an embrace like this one.

"In a way, yes. I think he does," after all, he always had in some capacity. "Whether it's like he used to, I don't know. Time will tell."

"I would feel so bad for you if he didn't anymore, mom. I know he's your best friend."

Relative calm might've washed over both of them, but that didn't stop a lump from forming in Mary's throat at hearing this. She ought to have known that Melissa's agony wasn't just for herself, but for her mother. An unhappy parent so often equaled an unhappy child, and Mary hadn't given her anything to rejoice about lately. She had to know how much Mary's life would be altered without Marshall in it and that bled over into her own, in addition to the loss she would personally suffer if her step-father up and vanished.

But, the woman was able to swallow past the knob because, after all, they'd been doing so well without their usual side helping of thespian performances.

"Well, he's kind of yours too, isn't he?" Mary reflected, caressing her back a little harder. "I sometimes forget that," meaning, that she'd misplaced a parent as well as a friend. "But, you know…sweets…" things took an optimistic turn. "…If you're lucky, maybe he won't be your only friend like he was mine for so long."

And, without waiting for her to ask what she meant by this, the blonde pulled away, really looking at her daughter for the first time since she'd arrived. Her eyes were dry, but droopy behind her glasses, no doubt borne out of lack of sleep. Mary knew she couldn't be looking so hot either, but brushed that aside and laid a kiss on Missy's cheek. She rubbed the wet spot away with her hand and Mary smiled.

"Did they tell you you're going home?" she posed, wondering what sort of reaction this would receive if she hadn't been given a head's-up.

But, she said, "Yes," and no protest went along with it.

"Okay, well, I'd better sign you out then; I know Miss Newman wanted to talk to me first, but she has my number…"

Before Mary could make an escape, though, there was the sound of a chair running across nubby carpet behind them, and she turned around to see Mrs. Hodges standing up, looking more daunting than usual when she was on her feet.

"Actually, I wondered if I could have a word," she requested, sounding stately. "Just with you, Mrs. Shannon, if you don't mind. Courtney may not be able to get away from her class, and I can fill her in on what we discussed."

It certainly could not be debated that Miss Newman did indeed have a roomful of students to attend to, especially if they weren't at lunch yet, and in any case, Mary didn't want to disrupt too much of her eating time. Nonetheless, the prospect of being alone with Regina wasn't exactly enthralling. She wasn't interested in hearing about how Melissa was a baby, and how still allowing her to stumble around and get in fights was unacceptable and that Mary would do better to correct her oddities rather than instilling some tolerance in the rest of the second grade. If the prior meeting was any indication, this was definitely the speech she was going to get.

But, because she knew it would be rude and childish to leave and deny the principal her opportunity to impart her authority, Mary resigned herself to sticking around.

"Sure…" she tried to sound nonchalant as she slid Melissa to the floor. "Right." Turning to her child, "Go wait in one of those chairs in the office, okay? I'll just be a minute."

Missy squeezed her hand lightly before departing, with a faint look in her eye that she didn't want to be left alone too long, but went ahead as instructed, closing the door behind her. It made a resounding thud as it swung into its hinges, a sure sign that it was separating Mary from the rest of the school; she was trapped.

For several seconds, both women were quiet. Mary had no reason to speak, since she didn't know what Regina wanted to tell her, and so she crossed her arms over her chest and waited. The principal seemed to be vacillating, battling with herself about how to begin or, indeed, what to say at all.

Eventually, she got out, "You can sit down," she indicated a chair opposite her desk. "Or not."

"I was under the impression this wasn't going to take long," Mary answered stiffly. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, firstly…" now that the ball was rolling, Mrs. Hodges seemed keener to get on with the show. "Courtney called you because she sent Melissa to the restroom and when she hadn't seen her for twenty minutes she became concerned. She found her crying in a stall and she refused to come out."

Evidently, Missy's defiance hadn't quite evaporated by the time she'd gotten to school. Where it had gone in the time since, so that she could speak so rationally to Mary, was anybody's guess.

"When she did emerge, she wouldn't say what had her so upset, just that she wanted you. Courtney seemed to think she was remembering yesterday and the incident with Mr. Patterson," that must be Owen. "But, then she brought her to me because she had to return to teaching and she eventually admitted what was bothering her."

Regina's face was impassive, still fairly stony, and so Mary couldn't discern if she thought the reason Melissa had hidden was enough to justify having a fit. Judging by their previous conference, she didn't, but there was no way to know from looking at her.

When she spoke again, though, her words were the epitome of political correctness.

"My condolences about Marshall."

Still, Mary managed to find fault, "He didn't die. Aren't condolences for people who have died?"

"I suppose so," she claimed, still looking down her nose across the room. "Still…we were…unaware of what she was facing."

The rigidity in this statement seemed to suggest to Mary that, had the school known, they would've made accommodations. Initially, this riled her because Melissa had been dealing with kids poking fun at her long before Marshall had gotten hurt, and it shouldn't take a tragedy to make them open their eyes. On the other hand, she knew full well she had wanted to confess the truth to Miss Newman in particular, precisely because she'd wanted Missy to take full advantage of whatever adjustments were offered – understanding and leniency, for the most part.

"Yeah…" Mary replied, trying to construct what she was thinking into a coherent phrase. "…I saw the benefits to letting someone know, but Melissa thought it might pose a problem."

That was pretty good, the woman thought with a mental pat on the back. It said she hadn't wanted to keep things a secret, but given Melissa's already tenuous situation, to add more fuel to the fire would've been risky – in other words, it might've given her more reasons to look different.

Fortuitously, Regina seemed to understand what she was getting at, because she was surprisingly forthright in her next words. Although, Mary noticed she still didn't lose her inexpressive features, no doubt wanting to look tough and in charge.

"Yes, it would seem that Melissa is still having a tricky time interacting with her peers…" Mary was about to say that the 'trickiness' of the matter was not her daughter's fault, but she didn't get a chance. "I hope you were made aware that I handled the circumstances that occurred yesterday involving her and Owen Patterson…"

"I was aware you spoke to him…" the inspector proclaimed. "But, honestly, I wasn't sure whether you would punish him or give him a high five."

This was a dangerous game she was playing, but she didn't want to go back-and-forth in this strained, faux-polite atmosphere forever. It was time to put up or shut up, and Mrs. Hodges clearly knew that as well.

"Confidentiality permits me from telling you what consequences we have assigned a student," this was legal lingo. "But, rest assured there were no 'high fives.'"

"Well, I guess I'll have to take your word for it."

"If her glasses are no longer wearable, we can work out some sort of deal to help with the cost…"

This threw Mary off track, mostly because she would think it was generous if it were coming from anyone other than this woman. What was more, in spite of the fact that she didn't approve of the way Mrs. Hodges ran her school, she really wasn't to blame for Owen being a brat.

"Well…her…her glasses aren't broken…" Mary was honest, weakening just a little in their stare-down. "She's due for a new pair anyway, so don't worry about that."

"I wouldn't want you to think we left her impaired from the incident in any way…"

Again, this was getting a little too professional sounding, and so Mary cut to the chase, "Why don't we dispense with the pleasantries?" she came off more her old self with such a question. "Do you really care what happened to Melissa, or are you just trying to cover your ass so the school board doesn't come sniffing around?"

A flush rose in Regina's high cheekbones at the use of a swearword, not the least of which what had come with it. But, even as she pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes for half a second at Mary, the other woman was pretty sure a defense wasn't coming. She had been reading people for a long time now – criminals among them – and she recognized that Mrs. Hodges' preamble came from delaying an apology she knew she needed to make.

And, as if she knew she had been found out, the red left her face and she sighed, her bosom heaving as she did so.

"Mrs. Shannon, I would like to keep my job for longer than a year, and it has come to my attention that if I am going to do that, my approach toward both parents and students needs to be changed."

So few people ever admitted that they were wrong, at least in Mary's experience. Yet, the last person she thought would be owning up to her mistakes was about to come clean right in front of her.

"I want to apologize for how I behaved in our last meeting…" for some reason, the blonde could tell she was genuine even though her voice was flat and rehearsed-sounding. "It is not for me to judge your personal life. I still think it would give Melissa a much bigger advantage in her social skill set for her to be allowed to mingle with children with whom she has more in common…" that meant the gifted program. "…Which is not to say that I am waving away the actions of those who have bullied her…"

Mary still had doubts about whether this was true, but the rest of the speech was so pleasantly shocking that she was willing to overlook that part.

"If you would like another conference, more information about transitioning Melissa if you are still hesitant, I would be willing to set that up…" all of a sudden, she was willing to do anything. "In the meantime, I am more embarrassed about how I diminished the way you have chosen to conduct your life."

Here, she paused, which gave Mary some time to mull over everything she had said. It was still a little hard to believe this wasn't an act, put on only so Mrs. Hodges could stay employed, but then part of the reason the change of heart had occurred came to light.

"I had never spent much time with Melissa prior to yesterday…" her tone suddenly dropped and it sounded more natural, less obligatory. "I had convinced myself that she was being disregarded or passed from home-to-home with little stability…"

Those information forms that she had pulled out during their previous meeting suddenly flashed through Mary's mind, and she recalled all the names listed there – Mary, Marshall, Mark, Stan, Jinx, Brandi, Peter – along with the fact that the word 'father' had been crossed out. Though she still thought the way the principal had gone about it was off the mark, she began to see where a certain amount of skepticism would creep in.

"…But, after being able to talk with her, both yesterday and today, I see that-that is not the case – or, at least it wasn't prior to Mr. Mann's unfortunate accident."

Mary had to wonder what her daughter had said that was so convincing, but was sure she'd never find out.

"You have clearly built a wider, broader home for your child and it is obvious to me that she finds comfort and safety in all the individuals she thinks of as family," the inspector was hopeful that was still the case, even the way things seemed to have been split in two as of late. "It is not my place to deem that right or wrong."

It was feasible she was done after this, because she swallowed, but then Mary saw her open her mouth again and decided she'd better wait before responding. Regina had obviously planned what to say, and it was only fair she get it all out.

"I hope you will permit me a brief explanation…" explanations could sometimes be excuses, but Mary listened anyway. After a deep breath, she began again, "I was very fond of my own father as a young girl, and was much closer to him than I was to my mother…"

Mary hadn't expected a life story, but after falling all over herself to say she was sorry, she did authorize her with the opportunity to share. It might shed some light, after all.

"…My parents divorced when I was twelve and I lived with my mother; after they split up, I wasn't allowed to see my father anymore…"

It was like a distorted, mirror-image version of Mary's own childhood, with obvious exceptions.

"Years later, I learned that it was at her insistence that he not be in contact with me because she had met someone else. She remarried my step-father barely a year later and pushed for me to refer to him, in name and otherwise, as my dad."

And now the tale mocked Missy's youth, but in a much darker way.

"I refused for a long time, and knew for many years that my actual father was trying very hard to stay in touch with me, but my mother was fairly ruthless in keeping him away. I only saw him a few times a year," she didn't explain how or why her mother been so determined to push him out, but Mary supposed it didn't matter. "Eventually, my dad gave up and my memories of him faded. My step-father, despite my rejection of branding him as family, was actually a very nice man, and I was lucky that way…"

Mary was hoping that the end was near and, fortunately, Mrs. Hodges got back on track and looped the story around so it fitted the state of affairs at hand.

"Anyway…I should not have made assumptions, but when I first looked at Melissa's file, I couldn't help wondering what she was in for – who in her life might be replaced, who might be phased out, which man she was expected to devote herself to and which was supposed to keep his distance…" And, finally, she concluded, "I was incorrect on many counts, and I am sorry."

For the first time, Mary thought it might be her turn to say something. It was a lot to take in and even more to respond to; she wasn't sure she could cover all the bases. She did appreciate the show of remorse and was aware she should acknowledge it, but Regina didn't strike her as the type who wanted to beat a dead horse. Just looking at her behind her desk, Mary had been able to tell she had cajoled herself to get it all out, knowing it was the moral decision, but that it had been grueling every step of the way. She knew what it was to be a woman that didn't like to admit to her mistakes.

So, instead of nitpicking each detail, she took off from the ending and went from there.

"Well, it's not like I'm unfamiliar with skeletons in the closet…" she mused casually. "Or unresolved issues, mind you. My dad was a compulsive gambling bank robber that took off on me and my baby sister and my alcoholic mother when I was seven." Ignoring the shell-shock that fluttered in the principal's face, "So, I think you can decide for yourself what I'm trying to accomplish by packing Missy with dads on all sides."

And, miraculously, she thought she saw a hint of a smile in that smooth poker face, and although Mary didn't do the same, she made it clear just in her easygoing timbre that she could forgive. If she wanted Melissa to be where she belonged, she needed to play nice.

"Look…" she forced herself to take a step forward, to eliminate some of the distance between them. "I don't want to get stuck in history. What I do want is for Melissa to be where she is appreciated. Do you think if I sent the forms by Monday she could still get into the gifted class?"

Pride at making a choice mingled with melancholy that Marshall wasn't there with her to witness it. And, she'd done it not because he wanted her to but because, as Stan had said, it was time to spread their wings. Marshall had-had to start fresh when he'd lost eight years of his life, and now Melissa was going to get her shot. Boys and aunts and baby cousins were great for companionship, but she needed more, whether it made her different or not.

Looking a little alarmed at the quick switch in gears, Mrs. Hodges still recovered well enough and agreed with a nod of her head.

"Yes, that would be fine; she won't start until after Halloween anyway, so that would give her time to meet the teacher and the other students," a grace period of sorts. "It is just for an hour or so a day; she will still be with Miss Newman the majority of the time, so I do hope we can come to some sort of understanding with the other children in the class about how to treat her respectfully…"

"If you think it would help…" Mary was on a roll, but stopped herself before she got too far ahead of herself, thinking through what she was about to say. "I mean…I'd need to talk to Melissa first, but if you think it would help to share…" This was a big leap, but if the little girl could take the plunge, so could Mary. "…If it would help to share how she came to be the way she is – she was born early and sick for the first several months of her life – then…I mean…"

Her offer tapered away, but it seemed Regina understood where she had been going. Mary hadn't forgotten the proposition put forth by Courtney in their original meeting about teaching acceptance with the truth. It could very well be that the students isolated Missy because they simply didn't understand her. The facts could begin the road to approval.

"You discuss it with her…" the principal said, meaning the second grader. "And see if she would be comfortable with it. I will talk to Courtney and see what she thinks as well."

"Great," Mary said, wondering when the last time was that she'd uttered something so positive and felt that way as well. "If…if that's it, then I'll just grab Missy and head out…"

Even after the barriers had been broken, the inspector had to wonder if she would witness some kind of disapproval for taking Melissa out of school before lunch had even begun. But, it seemed the bad blood was slowly trickling away for both.

"I hope she has a relaxing afternoon," it was the kindest Mary had heard her yet. "When she told me what had happened to Marshall, I was floored that she hadn't missed a day of school since."

Mary thought of how proud her daughter would've been to hear that, because learning really was so important to her, a trait ingrained almost since birth by Marshall himself.

"Well, she's a tough kid."

And, when she remembered roller skates and scraped hands and bleeding elbows and twisted glasses, she realized how true that assertion was.

"About as tough as they come."

XXX

A/N: Thank-you so much to anyone who is keeping up with this. I do so appreciate it.